


Absolute Zero

by JamieTheMoose



Series: Skating au! [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean Winchester, College | University Student Sam Winchester, Dream Sharing, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Language, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Human Gabriel (Supernatural), Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, It's a bit odd, It's vague and not really explicit, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kinda, Like it doesn't even follow s1, M/M, Minor Body Horror, Minor Character Death, Minor Gabriel/Sam Winchester, No Beta We Die Like Depressed Motherfuckers, Not Canon Compliant, Pansexual Sam Winchester, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Telepathic Bond, basically there are no angels, but if that fucks with you please take care of yourself, it'll make sense later, it's poetic i swear, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27252268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieTheMoose/pseuds/JamieTheMoose
Summary: John was a good hunter, but he wasn't a good father.Dean had a secret, something he hid.Someone he hid.(Aka my brain went brrr for like a month, I wrote this.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Skating au! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021111
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. First Taste of Freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically my second ao3 fic and It's kind of a mess, but it's my mess and I'm proud of it! I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as i enjoyed writing it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean hits the ice for the first time, John has some thoughts about that.

_The smell of the rink is something that follows Dean after his first visit. He sometimes turns his head to make sure he's not actually by a rink. the smell of a locker room haunts him like a ghost. He realizes soon enough it's just his longing for that freedom._

* * *

Bobby took him and Sam to a skating rink, renting skates from a man who looked all too wise, who was just as ingrained in the walls of the place as the planks of wood that made the foundation. "C'mon boys, I'll show you how to tie em, then we can head out on the ice," Bobby says, patting each of them on the head, making a dull sound on their helmets. Putting each foot into a skate, Bobby talked to them through each step, teaching them how to properly tie hockey skates, how to make sure they're not loose. Then they made their way out. Making his first step onto the ice, he wasn't all that great.

He fell pretty soon after stepping on the ice. "Woah, Dean, you alright?" Sam asked, slowly drifting towards him like a baby giraffe trying to walk. "Yeah, this is kind of hard." He muttered, getting back up and brushing the snow off of himself. "That's alright," Bobby said thoughtfully, pausing mid-sentence. "Always remember, no matter how hard you fall, or how many times you fall, you always get up after, okay?" Dean and Sam looked at each other from the side of their vision, sensing a deeper lesson than just skating. "The ice doesn't care who you are, small or big, it's just ice. So you have to make the effort to make your way back to your feet, cause the ice sure as hell ain't gonna help." Bobby finished, skating forward a bit and pulling the boys with him to the centre of the ice.

Teaching Dean how to skate was just one of the many things Bobby did for him and Sam. One of the many things that made him a better father than he could ever ask for. A better father than the one he had.

He soon got the hang of it, as did Sam. Gliding back and forth and soon joining the small crowd that was skating loops around the rink. Dean sped up, passing the people around him and making a fast turn. The cold air from the refrigeration stung against his face, making his eyes tear up, but it didn't matter anyway, the rhythmic, hypnotic movement of his legs was keeping him warm. Feeling like flying was probably the best part, skating gave Dean something new, something he couldn't name. Sammy was _safe_ and he could _fly_. He could fly as far as he wanted, no monsters or demons in sight.

Even though he never went to that rink again, he would escape to it, every now and again. Even if it was just in his own mind.

* * *

The fight that ensued after their trip was worse than any other fight Dean had seen his father get into with Bobby before. It was just short of physical and he'd never seen his father so furious before. "They're my boys Bobby! Instead of teaching them shooting, like I asked you to, you taught them that sissy shit! they'll never use it!" He heard his dad scream, through the opened front door of Bobby's house. Him and Sam looked at each other, making a silent pact to not talk about their trip again. "They're kids John! They deserve some kind of normalcy!" Bobby yelled back, sounding equally as furious, if not more. "It's not your job to raise them! They've lost some of the only hours they have off the road! Valuable hours they could have used to learn something important!" His dad screamed, appearing by the front door. "Honestly! I don't give a damn if they were 'valuable hours'! They're children! They need something other than hunting!"

The next words shared between the two were far more hushed, so neither he nor Sam could make out what they were saying. They just knew it wasn't good from the way John slammed the car door as he entered. He turned it on, pulling out on the road and taking the nearest highway. His next words stung worse than the friction burns he got from the laces.

Sam is asleep in the backseat, Dean's flannel covering his small body, Dean could remember the days when he was a toddler, trying to feed him a half-eaten funyun that he found on the floor in their motel of the week. Dean ate it, it was stale and covered in baby drool but he ate it, just to make his little brother laugh his little toddler giggle, the kid grew so damn fast.

His thoughts were interrupted when John said to him with his voice hard as steel, "I'm raising you to be men, you understand that, right? I'm not raising you to be some weak-ass fag skater, okay? I'm raising you for the real world."

Dean felt his stomach drop to his feet as he nodded, muttering a quiet "yes sir," before closing his eyes, wishing for an escape.

* * *

_That was the first time he dreamt of it, the rink he knows but has never been to._

_Just as cold as any other and twice as big as the one he had seen._

_The smell of rubber hit his nose as the smell of sweat did._

_There was nobody there but he heard the sound of blades grazing the ice._

_And then he saw it._

_And then he saw **him.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, when I was writing this, I was mostly just missing skating. My local rinks are closed because of the pandemic and I bought skates during autumn last year, which was not great idea now that I know there would be a pandemic like five months after that but that's on being overexcited.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this mishmash of my weird writing and longing for ice time.


	2. Blue-Eyed Boy, Blue Tinted Lips.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sees the boy again, Sam leaves, Bobby cares.

_The rink was freezing cold the next time he visited. Dean had woken up before he could ask his name, but he was a permanent fixture in his dreams about the rink. Like the men at skate shops, he was just as much a part of the rink as the foundation was._

_Even if his presence was almost as ghostly as the first spirit Dean had salted and burned._

_Dean didn't question it, the boy didn't talk to him. Dean didn't talk to the boy._

_They just skated circles around each other, making track marks in the ice, making some beautiful sculpture out of nothing but the ice under their feet. Today it was a caged bird, made out of silk soft skate strokes and lingering looks._

_He wasn't gay, but he could appreciate a calm moment. He didn't get many of those, calm was privilege hunters don't get._

_He made his loop back to the boy, the boy with blue lips and blue eyes and heart that was all too blue._

_This picture they painted was important to him. Talking made this all too real but just listening to their mutual silence made him picture the portrait. A caged chickadee. Why a chickadee? Why caged? Questions nobody needs to ask, both knew the answers, both knew they were the caged birds, longing to take flight._

_Their scratches in the frost, symbolic of their mutual understanding, their blended consciousness._

_Dean wasn't gay, but he dreamt of blue lips and he wanted to kiss them._

* * *

Sammy wanted to move to California, to go to Stanford for law school. Dad called him names, names Dean wished he could erase all of them from existence. Sammy snapped and told him to fuck off, and suddenly Dean was caught in the middle again. The middle between cleaning up another one of his dad's fuck-up's and being so proud of his brother. So proud of his accomplishments, of his dreams.

Sam was a damn strong kid, dealing with shit beyond his years. He missed the simple days of skating with Bobby and shooting cans. Now it's hunt after hunt, cleaning up dad's mess every time he makes one. Either pissing off the wrong person or messing with the wrong monster. Dean spent too much time getting patched up in shitty motel rooms to give a fuck by the time Sam said this.

Maybe someone could escape the curse of hunting.

Maybe Sammy could escape it.

Of course, John fought him at every step. Despite him having a full scholarship, John saw it as useless.

John practically disowned Sam when he left for California, leaving Dean to try to salvage their connection. The three of them had a connection through John, so when Sam left, the only one left with his number was Bobby.

They didn't see Bobby for three years after the fight he and their father had, John was on a hunt the first time Dean went to a payphone to call Bobby in secret.

Bobby was someone Dean couldn't afford to lose. Bobby was a parent, a real one. He sent Sam a Stanford sweatshirt and their application papers when he was talking about going. He cared if they were hurt, he cared if they had eaten.

John told Dean to man up, to stop being a sissy when he had cried after his first break-up. John told him to get up and quit whining when a spirit cut straight through the flesh of his arms, leaving jagged and bleeding cuts that bled like a flooded basement.

John was a good hunter, but he wasn't a good father.

* * *

Dean didn't know why he still cared what John thought. He was his blood, but so was the blood he spilt on that gravel road as he bled out in the middle of nowhere.

Trees whistling a soothing song as the life faded from his veins, his skin getting sickly pale.

A leaf fell, floating down to him as he gripped the shirt on his arms. Landing on his lap, the yellow-red-orange leaf begins to look spotty.

Fuck. Where did his dad go? He told him to wait by the car if he was going to be a sissy about a little blood and he never came back.

Dean steeled himself and with the little strength he had in his arms, he brought himself back to his feet. Swaying in the wind like the trees that sang the song of his pain.

He phones his dad.

The line goes straight to voicemail.

He tries again, it rings once and goes to voicemail again.

Fucking shit.

He phones a number from memory.

"John? What the hell?!"

"Bobby, it's me." he breathes out a shaky breath, he tries his best to not cry, to not let it break him.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Bobby asks, sounding more alert. He hears the sound of movement on the other end of the line.

"Dad and I, we're on uhm, a hunt. He left me in the Impala after I got uh, hit by a spirit. Uhm, I can't get ahold of him and I-"

Dean's voice cracks, he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut.

"I don't know if I'm gonna make it Bobby."

Bobby's sharp intake of air was deafening in the silence that filled the line.

"Jesus, alright, where are you?"

"Uhm, close to Boulder, somewhere in- Fuck!" Dean's arms sting as he moves to go to the trunk, opening it and grabbing the map.

"Whe-"

Dean felt the world sway.

"Jesus kid, stay with me now!"

**_"Wheelman..."_ **

"Stay on the line, okay Dean? Don't go and pass out on me now!"

He laughed wetly, trying to keep his vision from blurring.

"Sorry Bobby-"

He didn't get to hear Bobby's response.


	3. Glass Sharp.

_Blurry vision, green, grey and brown, a voice he knows. Everything is so wrong, wrong, wrong. He can't feel his body, like an out of body experience, his consciousness shifted, blurring and fading as he heard shouts around him, voice and sound merge and his vision blacks out._

_Was this the end?_

_Was he even alive still?_

_The world kept twisting and shaking and distorting around him. His head would hurt if he could feel it, he saw the gravel from the road in his hands. His little energy kept fading as he tried so hard to focus on his surroundings, soon it all went black again._

* * *

The boy, now a young man, wasn't on the rink by the time he got his skates on.

The skate shop was closed and the doors were chained as if someone had tried to break-in, like something had happened. He didn't know the man's name, so he just wandered the countless halls of the rink, watching the lights turn on as he explored each new corridor, each new room of the seemingly small rink. It seemed like each time he thought he was back by the skate shop, he'd just find a new hall, he looked down one hallway, watching as it seemingly expanded endlessly as his eyes started to blur.

He was all alone, and he had nobody to blame but himself.

The guy probably hated him now, it's all his fault that the portrait came out wonky in their last visit. He was trying his best, his foot had skipped on a chip in the ice, he never meant to break it, he never meant to hurt him.

Did he hurt him? Or was he just putting his own hurt on the other man? He should have never come here.

He should have just never slept.

Suddenly he was putting his skates on, pulling the laces tight despite the feeling of burning they brought as he gripped them too hard. The laces snapped, bringing him back from his wandering mind. He looked out on the ice and saw the blue boy, sobbing in the middle of the rink, kneeling on the ice, turned away from the entrance.

His heartstrings pulled and he felt his body move to stand up, he's on the rink, feet away from him.

He doesn't remember skating over.

The man kept crying, turned away from Dean with, he could practically see the sorrow in his blue eyes, and for the first time, Dean didn't feel their connection.

He went to tug on his heart, to take some of his sorrow, but instead of the string of blue, he felt a void. His heart wavered, suddenly he doubts himself, he thinks for a split second the boy can't see him.

At least he does until striking blue eyes look straight at him. Blue eyes bruised, the side of his face bloody and bruised. And suddenly Dean felt full of fire, fire rushing through his veins. Breaking every unspoken rule they had, he asked through the fog that rushed over him.

"Who? Who did that to you?"

The blue eyes look away from his.

Dean steeled himself and crouched by the man, gently placing his hand on blue-eye's shoulder, painfully trying to ignore the way the other man flinched.

Dean's heart was hugging his rib cage, begging to be set free, to fight whoever did this.

"Who?" He asked, his voice full of regret, barely contained sorrow and rage.

"Nobody." The man said, still looking away from Dean, though it seemed more like he wanted to hide from him than anything.

Dean scoffed, sat down beside him, looking down at his own arms in fear. Something was missing...

He shook the feeling and looked back at the man.

"Sure, and you did that to yourself?" He shot, giving the man his most unconvinced look.

The man pursed his lips, frowning at him. Dean blinks and Blue's forehead starts bleeding.

"Blue-eyes! Are you okay?! You're bleeding!" Dean yelps, pulling his flannel off, putting it on the man's wound to stop the bleeding.

"Yes, I am fine. Though, I believe after four years I should inform you on my name, I don't like being called by a physical feature." The man says, taking the flannel from Dean's hands, pressing it harder onto his wound as the blood poured down his face.

"I am Castiel."

Dean blinks, slightly confused at the sudden change of subject.

"Well howdy Cas, I'm Dean," he says, pushing the confusion away and winking at the other man.

He might be slightly gay.

Blue eyes light his heart on fire.

~~_He hates himself for the thought._ ~~

Blue eyes looks at him, confused, like he was suddenly unable to see him properly.

"Dean? I think you're going to wake u-"

Blue eyes, Castiel, cuts away before he can finish his sentence.


	4. Guilty Soul.

Blurry vision focused as his ears rung, pressing his palm to his eye, he rubbed the remnants of sleep from them. A steady beeping took his focus as he looked around the room. 

A hospital. He was in a hospital.

Bags of blood hanged from the side of his bed as he looked at the monitor, his brain failing to fully comprehend how he got here. He could remember being attacked, and the boy but not much else. He squeezed his eyes closed and prayed for the pounding headache he had to fade. Where was dad?

"Look who's back with the living, you scared me for a bit there." His eyes snapped up, looking at the person by the door. Bobby.

A wave of relief rushed through him, and some kind of regret that he was glad it wasn't his dad. 

"Where's dad?" He asked, cutting straight through the faux casual facade Bobby had on. something was wrong, Dean could tell from his eyes, they were dull, he looked upset. "If something happened you don't have to hide it from me, I'm not a-" Dean paused, pursing his lips. "I'm strong, I can take it."

Bobby frowned, looking hesitant. He twisted the ring on his finger before looking Dean in the eyes and opening his mouth.

No words came out for a while, he stopped himself, looking pale, paler than a hunter should in this situation. 

"He's gone."

Dean gripped the side of the hospital bed, squeezing his eyes closed and biting his lip, grief flooded his senses, he couldn't smell anything but burnt skin and blood, leather.

That grief that soon turned to anger, he hit the bedframe, hard.

A nurse looked in and Bobby shook his head at her, giving a sad smile.

Bobby came to his side quickly, grabbing his fist and putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright son, it's alright to feel it."

_Anger he can't control, like a horse on the run._

"Don't!"

Dean says it loudly, harshly, taking Bobby by surprise.

"Don't call me son! I'm not your son, _**I'm not anyone's son! I-** "_

Dean's face scrunches up, he puts his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Bobby approaches him carefully, like he'd snap and try to attack him if he got too close.

"It's not your fault, Dean."

"You don't-"

Dean chokes back a sob and raises his head to look Bobby in the eyes.

"You don't get to do that, I lost that privilege when I got him killed."

Bobby shakes his head, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder once again.

"You didn't get him killed, he got himself killed."

"You don't know that! He would have been fine if I went with him!"

"Yes, I do! He might've been a smart hunter, but he clearly didn't do his research here!"

Dean looked away, his eyes widening and his heart monitor going up. 

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, the grief he felt weighing down on his heart. 

It doesn't matter if it's his fault or not, it was always going to feel like it. He was always going to hold that guilt, the guilt thatt he's the reason why Sam became an orphan, he's the reason his dad even went to the town. He should have never looked for that case, he should have never mentioned it.

"It wasn't a ghost, he would have gotten both of you killed."

"What do you mean it wasn't a ghost, it was a ghost, Bobby! I saw it with my own two eyes!!"

"No, it was a Moroi, or really, a Drac at this point. It's Romanian."

"Well, what the hell is that?!"

"It's like a vampire, but without a physical form. it went too long unbanished and turned into a demon, a Drac,"

"A fucking demon?! A fucking demon is what took my dad out?!"

Bobby sighed, grabbing the chair from beside Dean's bed and sitting in it, facing Dean still. Bobby was trying his best, trying his best to comfort him, but at every step, Dean fought. That was just how he was. He fought everything, even his own damn emotions.

"It changes if it spends too long unbanished, and from my guess this one was there for at least a century."

Dean looked at Bobby again, his shining eyes looked like a sorrowful rainforest. Full of anger and sadness and so much pain, so much more pain then a twenty-four year old should be in. Bobby wished he could take this from him, this guilt.

Dean took a shaky breath, closing his eyes again, squeezing them shut like it would stop the world from turning. 

"There was nothing you could have done."

These words break him, finally. His face twists up and he can't stop the tears from coming. His body shakes with the restrained sobs he's crying, he's trying his best to not make a sound but nothing can stop the sound of the gasps of breath he takes in between each sob. 

_There was nothing he could have done._


	5. Slow It Down.

Time passed and his physical wounds healed, he never truly grieved John, he just shoved it to the back of his mind and packed Baby with the remnants of the man's existence and hit the roads. He knew of nothing better to do, there was nothing better he could do. This life was just as much a part of him as the scars on his arms, on his stomach, his face. The roads were built into his scar tissue. The haunted road, his haunted body, his haunted roads.

He left Colorado in his rearview, and for years, he left Cas with it. Simply walking out of the rink, it was his fault, he got too close to someone and it made him doubt his dad.

If he didn't doubt him, maybe he would still be there.

_He got too close._

* * *

When he first left the hospital, Sam came, for the funeral.

At least Dean thinks he did. That's the excuse he gave when Dean had asked him. 

He thinks he's lying, but he's already too achy to take another hit. His bones feel like algae has already taken its place between them, moss growing on his ribs as he decays from the inside out. He's a walking corpse, even if he doesn't look like it.

He sure feels like it.

They burn John's body the next day, Bobby doesn't let them see the bundle, but they can tell it's not one piece. They can tell from the blood under Bobby's fingernails and the haunted look in his eyes. They don't talk, they just look on as the body is engulfed with flames, Vicks under their noses block the smell of burning flesh and burning leather. They gave him a hunter's funeral, like he always told them to, burning his old jacket with him, making sure there was nothing left for him to come back with. He used to say when he died, he didn't want to come back, that he didn't want to come back in any sort of afterlife, but Dean can't help but hope there's something left for him. At least so when he finally sinks into the earth like the moss in his joints begs him to, that they could at least meet one last time, so Dean's guilty soul could descend into whatever shit show his soul might belong to without anything holding him back. 

_Sam packs up to leave, then Dean does._

He doesn't want to, Bobby tries to get them to stay, using every excuse in the book, hell, he even bought him a pie.

But he couldn't stay too long, the doorway was haunted by memories of his dad, and not the good ones.

Bobby begs them one last time, to at least go skating with him and Sam one more time, for memories.

Sam smiles fondly, clearly remembering that day.

Dean's sharp intake of oxygen and his slightly watery eyes give it away. Nobody says anything but Bobby can connect the dots, Sam doesn't know, and Dean, for once glad that he wasn't raised by John.

Not really. That was Dean's job, he made sure the kid got to eat, even if it meant he didn't for a few days. anything for his little brother. 

Anything.

He stays to skate.

* * *

Hitting the ice again felt like finding something deep in his soul again, finding some spark in the blades of steel cutting the frozen rink. 

Time slows down, it's not the same rink but he could swear he was dreaming, he could almost see him, sitting there in the stands with a hot coco between his hands as his breath fogged up the glasses sitting on his face.

Dean blinks again, the man wasn't him, it was just another guy in another rink with another fucking pair of blue fucking eyes.

Dean's melancholy was drowned out by Sam's laughter, it reminded him of little toddler Sam with this grubby little hands and killer puppy dog eyes. Bobby saw it too, laughing with him, and watching him trip along the ice, teaching him again that "No, you don't lean forward unless you wanna wipeout on those kids."

Life was going slower than he could imagine it going, he knew it was temporary, as was everything else in his life, but he just longed for that normalcy. He longed for something better than a hunter's life, and he knew he wasn't going to get it.

A freezing cold thing went down his back and he jumped, nearly falling on the kid in front of him. 

He looked behind him, Bobby and Sam roaring with laughter as the guilty culprit shook off his wet hand from the snow he collected from the ice shaved by skating.

"Ow! what the f-" The kids in front turned to look at him, his face grew pink. "-fudgesicle! You can't just do that Sam! You coulda killed me!" 

Sam laughed louder, putting his hands on his knees. "What are you, an old man? You gonna break a hip from shaking too hard?"

Dean smirked deviously.

"I'll show you old man, Bitch!" 

He skated over to Sam, messing up his hair and skating off.

"Oh it's on, Jerk!"

His bones might be ready, but he sure as hell had a lot of shit to live for.

At least for now.


	6. Can Do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six was actually supposed to be the last chapter, but then i went all emo bitch on it at like 2am and ended up writing chapter three and four differently than i had planned, and then chapter five just fit with what i was trying for and then i went overboard and that's why we have this angst train.

It was one of those nights, with nightmares of blue eyes staring judgingly at him, daring him to come back, to come back to the rink. He dreams of entering those doors once again, but each time, he's stopped in his tracks by John. John pulls him close, embracing him at first and then stabbing him with a dagger, right in the heart. "I don't raise fags."

And then he wakes up, in a cold sweat each time, his heart beats hard enough that he feels the moss in his ribs shift with the grief they represent. He gasps to catch his breathe again, like he's done enough laps around a rink to exhaust any normal human being. But he didn't get the privilege of being normal. 

He gets out of bed, packs his shit up again and moves on to the next hunt.

Or, he would have.

* * *

"Hey, uh Dean, if you get this voicemail, can you come to Stanford, or at least California, it's not an emergency but-" Sam sighs at this point and Dean starts to get worried, it didn't sound like a tired sigh Sam might do when he pulled an all nighter, it was the guilty, heavy one that Dean knew all too well. It was the sigh of a man who was scared, scared of Dean. "It's important to me, and we need to have a conversation face to face. uh, anyways-" this time a voice in the background said something to Sam. Dean couldn't make out what it said but it sounded worried. " _I'll be over in a minute, just give me a second_ \- uh, yeah, just, please." Sam ended the voicemail, and Dean could hear the crack in his voice, the fear and sorrow and he wished he could take that from him.

He phoned Bobby, telling him to send the information he had collected about the hunt he was on to another hunter nearby, saying he needed to do something important. He sped out onto the freeway, his heart beating with worry each time his lungs took air in. He was worried.

He was _scared._

_What was so important?_

* * *

Crossing state lines was easy enough, but the closer he got to Stanford, the more scared he got, what was Sam so scared about talking to him about? He was lucky he was only in Portland, if he was any farther he would have taken at least a day. He drove nonstop, speeding, narrowly avoiding cops along his way, making it there in a little under ten hours. he parked by the campus and grabbed his notebook from the trunk, flipping through his notebook frantically, looking for Sam's dorm number.

Running up to the third floor from the stairs at five am, his bones were practically lit with the fire burning his soul. The worry eating his lungs. he knocked, fighting the urge to break the door down himself, he knocked louder, ringing the doorbell several times.

A short blond man answers the door and looks at Dean with the worst sass face he's seen since the time he ate the last candy cane at christmas last year.

"Look man, it's buttfuck o'clock in the morning and I have work and class tomorrow, so either come back at a decent time like a normal fucking person or fuck off-" the short man is interrupted by Sam, blearily looking at Dean from further in the dorm.

"Dean?"

The short man has a look of sudden realization, awkwardly moving aside, muttering some sort of goodbye as he passed by Sam, gently gripping his hand as he passed him, going back into the dorm.

"I thought you would just phone me back."

Dean shakes his head, probably looking more like shit than the time they hunted that cursed object that caused fatal insomnia.

"You asked me to come, so I'm here. He's right though, I should have waited. We can talk later, Okay?'

Sam nods, he looks teary but still looks exhausted, if Dean didn't know any better, he would have thought Sam was the one who just drove ten hours.

"I'm gonna go now, just, don't worry and go to bed, we will talk about this later. I love you Sammy, okay?"

Sam gulps, coughing immediately after.

"Love you too Dean, g'night."

Dean nods and smiles a little awkwardly.

Sam closes the door and Dean turns around, walking back to Baby in the dark.

So, _that's_ what that was about.

_**Okay** , Dean could handle that._

* * *

Dean could not handle that, what if Sam thinks he hates him? what if he says the wrong thing? He's not gay, but he really wishes he was at the moment, maybe that would make this easier on him and Sam.

Sam's... Friend, let's Dean into the dorm before leaving, giving Sam a meaningful look on his way out, giving Dean a more serious look. Dean smiles awkwardly at the guy before turning his attention to Sam. He was sitting on the couch awkwardly, barely even able to look at Dean. Dean sighs and walks closer to him, sitting on the other couch, to the side.

"You can relax, it's not like I'm gonna gank you or something."

Sam looks at him, giving him a tense smile, the best smile he could give. Dean wishes he did better.

"Look man, I don't care if you're gay-"

Sam looks at him, he can't decrypt what his face is saying, he just knows it's breaking his heart. Fuck, he should have done better.

He looks at Dean with a look Dean could only compare to the one Sam gave him before he told him he stole dad's shotgun for the first time.

A quiet mumble brought Dean back to the present.

"I'm not gay, I'm uh-" Sam's voice cracks and he looks like he's on the verge of tears again. "I'm pan, that uhm, it uh, means I don't have a gender preference."

Dean looks Sam in the eyes, giving him the most heartfelt look he can.

Dean tries to think of what made Sam so fearful of him, what made him think he wouldn't accept him.

John maybe? Did Sam think he was just a carbon copy of their dad?

Dean fought an internal battle, probably staying silent for too long, Sam was going to start over explaining soon.

Dean took deep breathe.

_He could do this._

**~~_He thought of blue eyes and blue lips that he wanted to kiss._ ~~ **

**~~_He suddenly couldn't hate himself for the thought._ ~~ **

"You're my brother Sammy, you're my family-"

Sam almost flinched at this, this wasn't working, he just sounded like dad.

Dean sighs again, this was too difficult, he's too awkward in this situation.

"I know you're not dad, and part of why I don't hate myself for this is because you raised me not to judge people for shit, even when dad did, but fuck, man, after he died, you just... shut down."

Sam looked him in the eyes, reminding him of each and every time growing up he had comforted the kid, the man now, wondering how he could do it now.

"You're not him, but when I look at you now, all I can see is him."

The words hit like a gut punch, knocking the oxygen out of his lungs, bringing tears to his eyes. He moves almost instinctively, hugging his brother tight in his arms as hot tears flow down both of their faces.

"I'm not, I promise you, _I'm not. I'll never be._ " He says, practically begging to Sam.

Sam nods to him, he feels it in his shoulder along with the tears Sam is crying.

God, he should have done better.


	7. Unfinished Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the inconsistent notes on this, I wrote it before posting and actually wrote most of the notes after rereading each chapter. See yall in the next chapter.

It takes him a while, and they sit in silence for another ten minutes, but he wraps his head around it. He wraps his head around what Sam saw in him. It was the remnants of their dad, it was the ghost of John, living in his bones.

Living in his mind.

He tries to let it go

**~~_Blue eyes and pink lips._ ~~ **

~~_when had he seen those lips pink, they always met at the rink. anything else was him hoping for something he couldn't have._ ~~

~~_or something he thought he couldn't have._ ~~

He gives Sam a final pat on the back before pulling back from their hug, reminiscent of the first time Dean had to comfort Sam after getting hurt, just a kid back then, he was so young. Dean could still see that youthfulness, the innocence that hunting takes from you.

Sam chuckles, it's heavy and full of unspoken words but he smiles. "I thought you said no chick flick moments." 

Dean chuckles too, it's almost as heavy with unspoken words, the things he wishes he could tell him. "Yeah, but I've come to realize that this is real life, that this-" Dean pauses to gesture at the room, the room filled with Sam's stuff, his guy's stuff, _their_ stuff. a shirt too small folded on the table, a rack with shoes Sam would never wear, a coat, a rose plant, stuff. Dean looks Sam dead in the eyes. "This stuff is important to you, so it's important to me." and as if that took the air out of the room and filled it with helium, the atmosphere seems lighter, Sam's shoulders have uncurled from his hunch, even if it was barely an inch. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Dean closed his eyes, rubbing his palms into them, god he wished for some answer, something clear. 

He couldn't help but question why he couldn't let himself feel, feel love, or sadness, or anything but anger, anything but hunting.

Just another ghost left by John. 

He idolized him in his youth, thinking of him as the best hunter, the best dad he could be in that situation.

Age came with cracks in those tinted glasses, he saw it in him, he saw it in Sam.

He could barely keep the weight in his chest, he doesn't want to take this from Sam, but he doesn't want to open up, he doesn't want his walls to crumble, he wants to keep building them up and up with each betrayal and each wrong moment, wrong word, wrong look.

"I'm not gay, but I'm not straight either."

Sam looks at him with shock in his eye, his face showing every emotion Dean has trained his whole life to hide.

"Uhm, wow! You know, I- I still care about you, I know dad wasn't great with this stuff but," Sam pauses to yawn awkwardly, blinking the water out of his eyes. "I thought that you might've reacted like he did after we went skating with Bobby that time."

**_Shock._ **

_Cold air._

_Cold lungs._

_Cold, cold, **cold**._

"How do you know about that?" Dean practically demands, his emotions spilling out, his heart spilling out with moss, moss, dead man's blood.

~~_His Blood._ ~~

His bones shook with fear.

"I got good at faking sleep."

The silence stays heavy.

* * *

Dean eats breakfast at Sam's place, instead of going to a diner. His guy, Gabriel, comes back, flushed from the cold with an awful sober look in his eyes for a guy who has lines by his mouth from smiling already, barely into his twenties. "Samsqautch? You alright?"

The look goes away when Sam walks up to him and absolutely gobsmacks him with a kiss, taking him into his arms with one of the biggest hugs Dean has ever seen Sam give. Dean felt a bit like he was invading their privacy, but he's getting used to the fact that Sam thought so much of his opinion. Maybe that makes him privileged to be able to be there, in his life still. 

He does start getting uncomfortable when the guy tried to grab Sam's shirt off. He clears his throat as Sam pushes his hands back, his blush going up to his ears. "Uh, Gabriel, this is Dean, my older brother. Dean, this is Gabe, my boyfriend..." 

Gabriel smirks, this cocky look spreads over the previously serious look on his face. "Hi, I'm the guy who almost shut the door in your face earlier," He moves past Sam, putting an open hand out to Dean, to shake. "Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot."

Dean shakes his hand, smiling at him and looking over at Sam, who looked lighter than he'd seen him since he was in middle school.

"Nice to meet you, I'd tell you not to hurt him, but since you've heard a lot, I shouldn't have to warn you," Dean says jokingly, barking out a laugh after he finishes the sentence. Gabriel takes it in stride, laughing along with him, making a funny face at Sam. "I'm sorry to cut this reunion a little short, but I've gotta bundle Samsqautch here up for our next stop, you're welcome to come, it was supposed to be a double date but that girl, Meg? She had to bail." Gabe offers openly, if he wasn't happy to bring Dean along, he clearly wasn't showing it. 

Dean thinks about it.

Sam is giving him the look. The one when he wants Dean to do something for him.

_Damn it._

* * *

"Moose here tells me you're a good skater," Gabe says, handing him his pair of skates from the rental guy, the place was decorated for Christmas and he could practically taste the chlorine from how humid the rink was. Who the hell thought an outdoor rink in California was a good idea?! He took a breath, the rubber flooring made him sink into the skates easier, his feet practically leading him out, he doesn't know where on the ice he's going, he hears Sam ask him where he's going, he sees him and Gabe get on the ice behind him, but he's already off, making his way around.

God, he could feel the connection course through him, the connection of past, to present, to future, like time was connected to the blades on his feet, adrenaline coursing through his body, the moss shedding, life flowing back into his veins.

He should have died with John that day, but god, he feels glad he's alive for the first time in a long time. He feels less like a pile of old bones strung together with old barbed wire and rusty pins, he feels human again.

The weight will always be there, but maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to drown him.

Sam and Gabe skated past him, laughing and joking, smiling, doing normal things, that normal people do.

Dean longs for that, that normal.

He starts to think about telling Bobby to look for other hunters to call, to take him off the list completely.

Maybe he could be normal.

Maybe he could _have_ normal.

He freezes in place.

Blue eyes meet his.

Those same _damn blue eyes._

_" **Castiel**." He breathes out, pale as the ghost he thought he was._

_" **Dean**." He sees the other man say, just as shocked, nearly falling as he trips on a chip in the ice._


	8. Dreaming Awake.

He thought he had snapped, that he was hallucinating, until Sam skated up beside him. 

"Hey dude, this is Castiel, he's the other half of the double date we mentioned."

His eyes never left Cas's, his heart beating out of his chest, his body begging to embrace the man. But it seems like he beat him to it. 

Castiel practically ran to him, hugging him tightly, holding him close.

"I thought I lost you, I thought you died..."

Sam and Gabriel were probably so fucking confused, but Dean didn't care, he hugged him tightly, kissing the side of his head. Muttering "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." As the man shed a few tears. "I was lost, I was so lost and I blocked you out and I'm so sorry." Dean murmured to him, slightly flicking at the untamed lock of hair that brushed his fingers. He pulled back slightly, looking him in the eyes, god how he loved them, how he loved him.

"So I'm gonna guess you guys know each other..." 

Shot back into the real world, into something that didn't seem like a daydream, he wetly chuckled and nodded, pulling away from Cas, he couldn't trust his voice. "Yes, Gabriel, Dean and I are... Childhood friends." Castiel explains, hesitating to explain any further details.

Sam frowns, looking confused and worried. "You never mentioned any childhood friends Dean, when did you meet?" He asked, the suspension in his voice clear to Dean, he was asking if this was a situation, if this needed hunters. 

Dean gave Sam a reassuring smile, leaning towards Cas's hand, which stayed on his shoulder. "It's weird and complicated, and honestly I couldn't give a shit what caused it. We shared dreams, for years." 

If he thought Sam's eyebrows were already raised, he was clearly wrong. His eyebrows shot up, he gave Dean the most confused face he had ever given him. Gabriel looked amused, not really concerned though. Dean gave Sam a look, it said _"Not. A. Word."_ And surprisingly enough, Sam dropped it, turning to Gabe with a still perplexed look on his face.

Castiel tapped Dean's shoulder, looking him in the eyes, the blue piercing his very being. "We need to discuss this more Dean, but not here, we're blocking the other skaters."

Dean nodded in agreement, skating over to the little huddle spot that Sam and Gabe had made a few feet away, whispering to each other. "Hey, uh, I and Cas are gonna be heading out, we need to talk."

So, they parted ways.

* * *

_Bobby gets a call a few days later from Dean, asking for him to divert any cases away from him, that he was out. He had applied to Stanford for a Mechanical Engineering degree, he was done with hunting._

_Also, he was dating someone, a guy._

_Bobby laughed, saying something about getting another stocking for Christmas before hanging up._

_At Christmas, he gets a pair of skates and dances with Cas out at pond out behind Bobby's place._

He starts to wake from his sleep, Christmas morning, rolling over in his warm bed.

Blue eyes look at him, filled with love and so much tenderness, so much fondness. Cas smiled at him sleepily, he smiled back.

God, he loves him.

Blue eyes and a man with the pinkest lips Dean has ever seen, he thinks about kissing them,

_And he does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i had writing it! I also just wanna thank my girlfriend and my best friend for being so supportive through the entire writing process, I wouldn't have been able to write it without yalls help! 
> 
> See yall in the next fic!
> 
> \- James


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